


repeat until death

by whenitgoeswrong



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But the author would like to assert herself firmly as a dany stan, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Violence, Which means there's some anti!dany stuff in here, Written from Sansa's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenitgoeswrong/pseuds/whenitgoeswrong
Summary: “He’s got the same disease that got his grandfather, doesn’t he? Caught ill twenty years ago and still hasn’t come right.”“What disease?”The boy leant forward conspiratorially. “He’s mad, Yer Grace. Roams the wall at night with that massive beast, and moans from the tower at all hours. Froze his arm off and clawed out his eyes.” He flashed a cruel grin. “We get told to keep clear of him. Get too close and he’ll murder you, just like that Targaryen bitch he loved.”- - -Thirty years after murdering the woman he loved, Jon Snow's sister visits him on the Wall.





	repeat until death

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mad Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893269) by [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/pseuds/poetdameron). 



> I haven't watched 8x05, 8x06 at all, and have only watched parts of 8x04, so you'll have to bear with my inconsistencies with the canon. I was spoilt the morning of 8x04 and was in a state of denial until the finale aired. 
> 
> Jon and Dany were my favourites, and I truly believe that, given time, Jon would be torn apart by what he did to her. This is my take on that. The talented poetdameron wrote a beautiful piece about it, and that inspired whatever I've written here.

“open the gate!”

the call was achingly familiar and sent her back thirty years. the bastard was long-dead, but for a moment, watching the gate creak open, she became the cold, terrified girl she had been when she'd first come to castle black. 

brienne pushed forward first, still as unbowed and strong as she'd been all those years ago. her face was now lined with wrinkles, her hair almost all grey, but she carried herself with the same unwavering resilience. 

she steadied herself with a deep breath, relishing the sting of the cold air sweeping into her lungs, and followed her loyal knight. 

the men who filled the courtyard were not familiar to her, but they all bore the world-weary and suspicious manner that seemed to be engrained in all members of the watch. there were a few who screwed up their faces and spat at the sight of her, but she tilted her chin up and pushed towards the centre of the yard. 

it was only when she gave more than a cursory glance around that she realised her brother was nowhere to be seen. she had sent a raven announcing her intention to visit weeks ago, and despite his unwillingness to forgive her, he could not deny a queen. 

 _or_ , she thought with a hot flash of anger, _perhaps he thinks he can._

a young boy approached her horse, breaking away from the lines of men. he couldn't have been older than four and ten, but he walked with purpose. 

“lady stark?” he asked, squinting up at her.

“queen stark,” she corrected, mostly good-naturedly. many lowborn in the north still refused to acknowledge her as their ruler, but they came around once they met her. they all did. “where is the lord commander?”

“which lord commander will you be wanting, your grace?” the boy replied, unapologetic in the face of his mistake.

she narrowed her gaze, thoroughly displeased. “forgive me, but i was under the impression that there was only one lord commander.” when he remained unmoved, she tightened her grip on her reigns. “lord commander snow. where is he?”

the boy made an exaggerated face of realisation, clearly unaware that she could bring the strength of the whole north down upon him. “ah, that one. he’s up in the kingstower, your grace, but seeing him ain’t really the best thing to do.”

“what exactly does that mean?” she demanded, her patience evaporating into the cool air. 

“he’s got the same disease that got his grandfather, doesn’t he? caught ill twenty years ago and still hasn’t come right.”

she started, looking over to brienne. her knight looked just as confused as she felt, hand gripping the pommel of her sword tightly, as though she was bracing for an attack. “what disease?”

the boy leant forward conspiratorially, a nasty glint in his eyes. “he’s mad, your grace. roams the wall at night with that massive beast, and moans from the tower at all hours. froze his arm off and clawed out his own eyes.” he flashed a cruel grin. “we get told to keep clear of him. get too close and he’ll murder you, just like that targaryen bitch he loved.”

she damn near fell off her horse, the least graceful dismount she’d had in years. brienne, two steps ahead as always, caught her caught by the elbow. she straightened herself hastily, at loath to appear weak in front of such men.

“i would like to see my brother.” she declared with all the queenly righteousness she could muster.

the boy's eyes widened slightly, surprised by her relation or by her insistence, she couldn't tell. he recovered himself enough to shrug.

“you're the queen, you can do what you please. i’m sure your lady knight could fend him off, your grace, but i'll warn you; it ain’t a pretty sight. when he picked his eyes out, the fat maester who found him heaved everywhere. couldn’t keep food down for a week and a half. hard feat for such a man.”

with that, he turned on his heels and started off towards the stairs, not waiting to see if they were following. after exchanging a final look with brienne, they went after him, disregarding the stares from the other men gathered in the courtyard. 

the trek up to the kingstower was long, giving her ample time to grill the boy for information about her brother.

according to what he'd been told by older members of the watch, jon was fine for the first five years or so. there were wildling visitors to the wall all the time, and he managed to organise the repair of a large number of the castles along the wall, including the burnt kingstower in castle black.

the boy didn't know what shifted, but the descent into inconsolable madness was a short one, fuelled by the death of the large, ginger wildling, who she had vague memories of drinking out of a horn in the great hall in winterfell. at the seven year mark, he was found one morning with his arm buried in snow up to the elbow, muttering about ridding himself of the evil.

“he was finished as lord commander even before he lost the arm,” the boy had remarked easily, “it was just a good excuse to put him up in that room and leave him be.”

by the time they stopped outside the door to jon's quarters, she was struggling to keep herself together. the thought of jon spiralling into madness alone made her more upset than she was willing to admit to a boy, who gave her the same amount of respect he would a common whore.

the boy, unaware or uncaring of her internal turmoil, pointed out the door to jon's chambers with a flourish. “he's all yours, your grace.”

with that, he jogged back the way they'd come, disappearing into the darkness, leaving her staring at the door blankly.

everything inside her screamed to retreat, to get back on her horse and journey home to her children, to forget about her brother entirely, to think of him as already dead. but he had not abandoned her when she needed him, and she could not leave him now, not without trying.

she mustered her courage and pushed the door open.

for a moment, all she could see was white, mountains of white. it looked like snow, like the window had been left open during a storm. she blinked, focussed, and realised that it was paper, piles and piles of paper.

it took another moment to find jon, though he was clad in the traditional black of the watch. his hair was snow white and stretched down to his waist, matched by an equally long and tangled white beard. it rendered him almost completely invisible, though he knelt in the middle of the room.

stretched out along the far wall, just as hidden, was the behemoth figure of ghost, the glow of his ruby red eyes fixed on her his only distinguishing feature. he was missing an ear, and the sheen was gone from his coat, but the watchful protectiveness remained, his reclining figure full of deceptive calm.

she tried to smile at the beast, to convey that she meant jon no ill, but couldn't quite manage it. he snorted gently, the sound filled with humanlike disdain and lowered his giant head onto his paws, attention shifting to jon.

at his implicit acceptance of her, she gathered her courage and took a gentle step into the room, grateful for brienne's calming presence at her back. 

“jon?”

his head snapped up, his hair falling away to expose his face.

she stumbled back, swallowing a scream.

there were gaping holes where his eyes should had been, everything, even the lids, torn away. the injury had clearly happened years ago, but there were fresh claw marks around the holes, oozing blood, stark against the criss-cross of old scars.

even though the boy had warned her of what he had done to himself, there was nothing that could compare to the reality of it.

“dany,” he whispered, stumbling to his feet, off-balance. his stump was thankfully hidden by the cloak he wore, but the absence of the limb was obvious when he stretched out his left arm beseechingly. “dany, have you come for me?”

“no,” she could taste blood in her mouth and realised distantly that she'd bitten her tongue in her attempt to keep her horror silent. “no, jon, it’s sansa,”

he staggered back like she’d punched him, retracting his arm. “not dany,” he muttered, turning away from the door, “she still hasn’t come.”

“jon,” she tried again, taking a few more steps into the room. “it's sansa. your sister.”

“why hasn’t she come?” he continued as though she hadn't spoken, lowering himself to his knees once again. “she tells me to wait and i have waited. i have waited, i have waited a very long time.”

as if he knew what was coming, ghost clambered to his feet, stretching out his limbs. she shot him a beseeching look - if there was any being who had a hope of getting through to jon, it was him - but he avoided her gaze in favour of shaking his coat out.

“will you go look for her?” jon asked, gathered handful of scrolls, pressing them close to his heart. “ask her again, will you? look for her and ask and maybe she’ll say yes this time.”

ghost padded towards the door, but refused to slink out until she and brienne stepped aside. as he passed, she reached out to touch him, but he shrunk back like her hand was poisonous, sending a hot bolt of rejection through her. he too disappeared into the dark hallway, leaving them alone with her brother.

she took a breath and collected herself.

she was she was sansa stark, daughter of winterfell, queen of the north. she would not be afraid of her brother, no matter what gripped his mind. 

her next step into the room crushed a scroll under her heeled boot, and, unable to help herself, she leant down to read it. upon it was a familiar scrawl, the fresh white paper marred by jon's apparent inability to control his ink.

 _dany,_ it began,  _our babe, is she well? ghost speaks little of her. he is selfish, he keeps the happiness to himself. she is well, isn’t she? i can feel it. she must be so sweet. if i were not cursed, she would love me, wouldn't she? when the curse is lifted, will you let her love me? i will not ask for much more, i swear it. i long_

the rest of the ink was blurred and smudged, leaving the bottom half of it unreadable. curiosity and anger were spiked in equal measure, and she picked another. this one had edges that were worn thin by age, ink bleeding through to the other side. it had obviously been carried for a long time, read and re-read.

_i saw you today, on our way to hardhome. you were dressed in that white dress, you liked so much. you didn't have any braids, like you had come from your chambers to look for me. i was too afraid to ride to you; i didn't think i was finished living yet. i know better now. i will ride to you next time, i promise. if you have come to collect, i will give myself to you._

she let it fall with shaking fingers and picked up another. 

_dany, my love, you have been gone an awfully long time now. i know you like it in mereen, but i am afeared that i will not last another winter without you at my side. it is hot in mereen, is it not? i wonder if you are hot there now, or if it is winter there too. it is cold here, i am cold all the time. it has bitten into the marrow of me, and won't come free no matter how hard i shake. i wish you had taken me with you. i know why you did not, and so i will only ask that you return soon; i waste away without you._

then another.

_can you come home now? i'll be good, i promise_

letter after letter it went, some more lucid and self-aware than others, his handwriting — normally a neat but scrawling script — becoming barely legible in many places. most only bore her name, written again and again, stained with spilled ink.

she straightened and wiped her suddenly wet cheeks furiously. 

even after so many years that mad witch still had a hold of him, had turned him just as insane as her. had she not been satisfied with the thousands of lives she ripped away in the attack on kingslanding? did she have to take her brother too?

unwilling to give up just yet, even in the face of insurmountable odds, she ventured further into the room. when she was only a few paces from him, she knelt. 

“yes, well it’s not as though he knew any better, is it?” he was mumbling, “he lost the crown for love too, didn’t he? yes, tell him i miss him. he knows well enough, but he will be upset if you do not tell him.”

“jon,” she said softly, “it’s sansa.”

he turned to her, seemingly knocked out of his trance momentarily. she barely suppressed a flinch at the sight of his ruined face, tamping down on the urge to reach out and wipe the blood away.

“ah, sansa,” he said, his voice surprisingly lucid. “oathbreaker.”

that made her flinch. she fell back on her haunches, a familiar sick feeling rising in her gut, sharp and acidic. “you know i had no choice, jon, i had to —”

“oathbreaker,” he interrupted, holding his fist out in her general direction. his knuckles were littered with open sores, his fingernails abnormally long and twisted, and the paper in his grip was covered in blood. he retracted the limb as bile rose in her throat and thumped his chest twice. “kinslayer, queenslayer, oathbreaker, man without honour.” he smiled, revealing rotting and broken teeth. “i am worse. father reminds me all the time. i am the worst of them.”

“no,” she shook her head emphatically, desperate to convince him otherwise. their father would have understood, would have been proud of him, she knew it. he was proud of all of them, for surviving, she knew he was. “you are a _hero_. you saved us all.”

his smile fell, and he turned away, the curtain of his hair shielding his face from her once more.

“can she leave?” he asked the air, fingers tapping against his chest restlessly. “must she stay?” he cocked his head like a dog, going still as though he was listening to something. “yes, suffering. of course. then dany? and then dany will come?”

suddenly, she hated him. she had seen him for a moment, had seen jon underneath the insanity, but he had chosen to venture far away from her, had chosen to go somewhere she couldn't follow. instinctively, she reached out to grab him, to attempt to pull him back to her and ground him in the present.

though he saw nothing, he seemed to sense her intention. as soon as her hand raised, he reared back, giving a startled shout. she fell back, landing on her arse, and watched in shock as he scrambled frantically to get away, not stopping until his back was pressed against the wall.

“no, no, no,” he moaned, dropping the scrolls. they fluttered to the ground like snow, leaving his hand free to reach up and claw a bloody line from brow to lip. “i am death!” he cried nonsensically, fingers raking up and down his face. “i am death! touching me is forbidden!”

“jon!” she gasped, lunging forward to stop him, stopped in her tracks by brienne’s arm around her waist. “jon, stop,” she cried, straining against her knight in an effort to reach him. “please, jon, _please_ stop hurting yourself.”

“i see her in my dreams,” he said, voice wavering, fading away, “every night i see her, i see her, i see what i did.” his skin came off in ribbons, blood streaming down his face in a grotesque imitation of the tears he could no longer shed, “i don't want to see anymore, i don't want to see anything.”

she could hear someone wailing desperately in her voice, could feel her knight dragging her backwards, but all she could focus on was her once-brave, once-honourable brother, tearing at his face like it did not belong to him. he was slumped in on himself, blood soaking his hair, his beard, his clothes, the scrolls below him. gone was his fire, gone was all that made him jon; all that was left of him was the madness.

brienne hauled her over the threshold and yanked the door shut. her last glimpse of her brother was his broken form in the corner of the room, alone. as soon as the barrier was pulled between them, brienne let her go. she fell to the floor, shoulders heaving. her knight's hand on her shoulder was small comfort. 

he saved them all, and she couldn't save him.

**Author's Note:**

> You're more than welcome to imagine Dany in Mereen, alive and well and sipping on a cocktail during the events of this fic. It's definitely the ending I imagined for her, finale be damned.


End file.
